


The Young Wizard's Guide to Growing Up

by phoenixgal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Coming Out, Gen, Growing Up, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgal/pseuds/phoenixgal
Summary: It begins with Neville sharing a book with a clueless Harry about sex and growing up. But as time goes on, Harry starts to wonder if he and Neville share more.





	1. Third Year

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters from third year through seventh. Mostly canon compliant until the very end. I'm crap at canon nitpicking so if you see something egregious, feel free to point it out nicely and maybe I'll tweak it. Lately I just want to write all the Harry/Neville because there's simply not enough of it. Dear everyone, ship these two and write more fic for them.

The dorm room was filled with residual energy from the Hogsmeade outing, energy that Harry obviously couldn't share. He was torn between listening in and going along with everyone else's cheer and having a sulk. In the end, he settled halfway in between. If he sulked, he'd just end up thinking about the Dursleys not signing his form and nothing good would come of that. He knew he'd be out of sorts all night and into the next day. But he couldn't quite join in either.

“Trade you that licorice wand for a monster crunchie,” Seamus said to Ron, who was hoarding his small mound of sweets bought with what few sickles he had.

Ron looked suspicious, but he made the trade, shoving the crunchie in his mouth in one go and grinning.

“You can have one of my frogs,” Neville said, offering Harry a chocolate frog that was desperately trying to escape from its wrapping.

“Cheers,” Harry said, trying to sound grateful and not at all bitter.

Dean and Seamus were apparently arguing over whether a woman they had seen in the village was actually a player for the Harpies.

“It was her, I swear,” Seamus insisted. “I'd know that bum anywhere.”

Dean and Ron burst out laughing. “You tosser,” Ron said.

“Literally!” Dean said. “He's got her picture in his quidditch scrapbook.”

“I've got all the Harpies, you git. Team of all fit birds.”

“Not Sprottle,” Ron said, making a face.

“Oh what do you know?” Seamus said. “You'd like to have it off with the old lady who runs the pub.”

“Madam Rosmerta?” Neville asked, giggling.

“Oi,” Ron said. “She's… Well… she's…” He blushed furiously red, his color going brighter than his hair.

“She's got giant tits,” Dean offered.

“Huge bum,” Seamus said.

“Is that your type, Ron?” Neville asked, with a small but sly grin.

Harry slowly chewed the last of his chocolate frog and tried not to look put off by this whole conversation. It wasn't that he didn't think sex was interesting, it was just that everyone had come back after the summer seeming so much worldlier than him about it all. It was like they all knew exactly what they were talking about.

“What about you, Harry?” Seamus asked.

“Huh?” Harry dropped the chocolate frog card he had been fiddling with.

“Who do you think about when you spank the one-eyed snake?”

“Er… I can talk to snakes,” Harry said.

Everyone burst into rollicking laughter. Ron's chuckles were so intense that he flopped over on his bed. Harry, knowing it was the only way to deal with moments like these, also started laughing, as if he had made an absurd joke when in reality he had no idea what anyone was even talking about half the time.

Not too much later, one of the fifth year prefects poked his head into their dorm and told them all to go to sleep and everyone settled down, pulling their curtains and climbing into their beds.

It was not too much later that Harry heard a rustling at the foot of his bed. He wasn't tired yet and had been reading his quidditch book again by the light of his wand. When he pulled the curtains back, Neville was standing there, looking unsure, clutching a large, red book.

“Can I…?” he whispered, gesturing up to Harry's bed.

Harry nodded. The bed dipped slightly as Neville climbed up, letting the curtains fall back behind him. He was in his pyjamas and his weight made the bed feel slightly uneven. His face looked slightly red and embarrassed. “Can you do a silencing charm?” he asked. “Mine don't work very well.”

Harry nodded and waved his wand at the curtains, spelling them to block their noise. His muffliato usually worked.

“What's up, Neville?” he asked.

“I… er...” Neville looked down at the book in his hands. “I was just remembering that you, well, that the muggles you live with aren't always that nice.”

Harry grimaced.

“I just mean,” Neville said, looking at him earnestly, “maybe they didn't do such a good job telling you about bodies and sex and stuff.” The rosy glow of his cheeks intensified in the wandlight.

When Harry grimaced again, feeling his face turn defensive, Neville added quickly, “My gran was complete bollocks at that too. Probably for different reasons. I mean, she's rather old. She has different attitudes about it all, I think.”

“Oh,” Harry said, forcing himself not to feel so defensive. It wasn't Neville's fault if he couldn't go to Hogsmeade and didn't know what half the things everyone said these days was really all about. “How did you learn about it, then?” He tried to make his voice sound casual, as if this was about Neville and nothing to do with him.

“Healers,” Neville said with a little smile. “Since I'm around them a lot...” He trailed off. “Just, er, family stuff. Anyway, I know a bunch of them. My friend Althea, she, er, saw that my gran was maybe not teaching me much about that stuff. And she talked to me a bit. Althea is… she's aces. She's my favorite grown up.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He tried to sound nonchalant, like he didn't care what Neville had to say, but in reality there was some part of him that was screaming with excitement, that maybe Neville had come to let him in on some secret that everyone else seemed to have discovered over the summer about sex but that had eluded him. He had thought a few times about asking Ron what some things meant, but Ron, with so many older brothers, was obviously swimming in knowledge. He thought Hermione, being raised by muggles like him and being so much more straightforward about things, would probably be a better person to ask, but she was a girl. Surely that wasn't on.

“Anyway, I thought, tonight, that maybe you, er, would like to borrow this.” Neville held out the oversized red book.

“What is it?”

Neville pulled out his wand and tapped the book. “Revelio,” he said. The book went from plain and slightly tattered, with a rubbed out title to slowly turning blue, with a shiny title emblazoned across the top reading, _The Young Wizard's Guide to Growing Up._ “It's all about bodies and sex and all that,” Neville said. “Althea gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts.”

“Oh.” Harry looked at the book, wanting very much to open it up but still feeling a little bit like this whole conversation was about to be yet another joke on him.

“It has a whole page with all the silly things people call fannies and cocks and another with all the funny names for wanking,” Neville said. “That's what Seamus was asking you before. Spank the snake or whatever he said. He meant tossing off.”

Harry nodded. He knew what that meant, sort of. He reached toward the book, but he still didn't open it.

“You know what that means though, right?” Neville said.

“Of course,” Harry said confidently.

“It's okay if you don't,” Neville said. “I didn't know when Althea gave me the book.”

Neville had gotten the book more than two years earlier if it was before he came to Hogwarts. Harry felt himself turning red.

“It just means when, you know, when you touch your own cock. It just means masturbate.”

Harry nodded, letting that knowledge sink in. He had done that, with some interesting and exciting results a few times, though the Dursleys had always told him it was very wrong. He could only assume anything they said was wrong wasn't, but it didn't give him much to go on otherwise.

“Look,” Neville said, giving Harry a hesitant smile and barreling on in a discussion that, Harry realized, was almost entirely one-sided. He'd barely said more than, “oh.”

Neville opened the book and flipped past a few pages. Each page was mostly text with a sort of simple line illustration of a man in the buff on most pages in the corner. “See, there's a whole chapter about it.”

Harry looked down and immediately read the sentence, “Making things slippery with a lubrication potion can be pleasurable and cut down on friction.” For a second, he tried to understand what it meant and then it dawned on him and he found himself turning bright red. He could literally feel the heat rising. He looked away in embarrassment.

“Hey, it's okay,” Neville said. “Really. I… I was lucky to have Althea. And Ron has his brothers. And Dean's got his dad. And Seamus, well, who knows where Seamus picks up things.” He smiled again and Harry found himself meeting Neville's eyes at last.

“The Dursleys always told me sex was dirty and wrong,” Harry said.

“I'm sorry,” Neville said.

“I know they're wrong,” Harry said. “I know it. I just...”

“It's all right,” Neville said quickly. “My gran once told me the only thing I needed to know about sex was that no proper young man should have it until he was married.”

Harry managed to laugh a little. At least he knew that was old fashioned.

“You can borrow the book,” Neville said. “It's dead useful. Especially Stanley.” He took out his wand and poked the drawing of the man in the corner. “Go on, Stanley.”

Harry started as the drawing suddenly moved and stretched. Then he gestured to the topic, which was listed at the top of the page as masturbation. The long, strange word that was new to Harry lit up then faded. Harry watched in both horror and fascination as the drawing lit up key words in different paragraphs then illustrated each thing with his own body. “Neville!” he squeaked, looking around at the curtains and remembering the silencing charm with some relief.

“I know,” Neville said. “He's right dirty. But he illustrates everything. See.” Neville flipped the pages and Harry watched as the little drawing Neville had dubbed Stanley pointed out parts of his body, the names lighting up. Harry hadn't even known some of those parts had names. “He's also got Edwina, you know, for showing stuff about birds and fannies.” Neville flipped past moving illustrations of Stanley silently pointing to another drawing, this one of a woman in the buff.

“Wow,” Harry said, slightly in awe.

“And there's Vincent,” Neville added. He shifted and blushed furiously.

“There's another man drawing?” Harry asked. “What for?”

“Oh, you know, for things about gay wizards,” Neville said.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant and he was relieved and shocked when Neville further clarified. “You know, when two men kiss and, you know, do stuff.” He flipped ahead to a section in the back, where the little drawing of Stanley was next to a drawing of another male figure of a similar size but with different facial features. The title at the top of the page read “Homosexuality” and the two figures leaned forward into a silent kiss that seemed strangely passionate for two very simple drawings who didn't even have the ability to speak.

Harry forced himself to look away. His eyes had been wide and locked on the page. “I never,” he said.

“Yeah, me neither before the book.” Neville looked up at Harry, his face still bright red. “I know some people say it's unnatural and odd, but the book says it's totally normal, for some wizards anyway.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Neville said.

For a moment, their eyes met, but Neville looked away, toward the curtain. “Like I said, you can borrow the book, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry breathed. He felt strangely warm despite the oncoming nighttime chill that usually settled over the dorms in the fall. Part of him wanted to get up and run around from an excess energy that he wasn't even sure what to do with.

“You're welcome,” Neville said. “Er… Goodnight, I guess.”

And then Neville was gone and Harry was left alone with the most exciting book he'd seen since he first learned magic was real and books could contain spells that responded to his every whim. He wasn't even sure that this wasn't just as good.


	2. Fourth Year

“Shouldn't you be working on that egg?” Ron asked.

Harry surveyed their mostly empty dorm room. “I'm still recovering,” he announced from where he was lounging on his bed.

“From Christmas?”

“From the ball.”

Neville, who was sitting by the fire, snorted.

“Me too, mate,” Ron announced. “I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but who would have guessed dances were so miserable. Do you suppose women invented them just to torture us?”

Harry shook his head, but really he wasn't sure. He couldn't help wondering if he'd been able to take Cho if the dance hadn't been at least a little better.

“Did you have fun, Neville?” Harry asked, mostly to change the subject.

“Oh, yeah, I suppose,” he said. Neville was in an oversized Christmas jumper that looked like his relatives thought of him as either much larger than he was or about to grow a great deal in every direction. He looked comfortable by the fire, playing some sort of solitaire game with wizarding cards that changed their faces as you went along. He smiled, seeming to think about it. “Yeah, I did have a good time. I'm glad I stayed and Ginny was a good date.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at Neville, but Neville seemed oblivious.

“Oh, that's nice.”

“Neither of us were really trying to be romantic or anything,” Neville added. “I think that helped. I like her, but maybe as a friend. Neither of us really got to go with the people we might have wanted to go with the most.”

“Who did Ginny want to go with?” Ron asked, sounding suspicious.

“Er...” Neville glanced at Harry and seemed unsure about what to say.

“Who did you want to go with?” Harry asked, suddenly curious. Over the last year, he had heard a lot about Dean and Seamus's various crushes, but not Neville's.

“Oh, I just wasn't interested in any of the girls,” Neville said quietly.

Harry's eyes widened and met Neville's. Neville looked at him for a moment and then lowered his gaze, sitting very still. Did Neville mean what he thought he meant? Harry thought back to the book Neville had loaned him the previous year, which he had returned before they'd left for home. He could still picture the pages and he thought about the pages about gay wizards. Was Neville really one of them?

“Really?” Harry asked, his voice slightly breathless.

“I didn't want to go with anyone either,” Ron insisted, obviously not catching the same meaning from Neville's words that Harry had. “I don't know why some people had to go and be all mushy and romantic about it anyway. It was just a stupid dance. Or why some people.” his voice darkened, “thought it was appropriate to consort with the enemy.”

Harry and Neville shared a look. Their eyes met and Harry wanted to laugh about Ron's continued sulking about Hermione befriending Viktor Krum and about dances in general. And he also wanted to ask Neville what he had meant, but he found he didn't want to do it with Ron there.

“Anyone want to throw rocks in the lake?” Ron asked. “We can see if the giant squid knocks them back out like he did the other day when that Hufflepuff tried to wish on a knut.”

“Um,” Neville said.

“I'll come with you,” Harry said after a moment.

“Good,” Ron said, jumping up. “I'm dying to get out of here, even if it is cold outside.”


	3. Fifth Year

Seamus and Dean's beds were on one side of the big dorm room. Harry's was positioned between Ron's and Neville's on the other.

It only took a few weeks into the new term before he woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. The only reason he knew he'd likely been saying Cedric's name was the fact that his cousin had teased him about it over the summer and called him queer. In the quiet of the dorm room, he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself down. He could hear Ron's light snores and he thought for a moment that he had escaped notice. But then there was a rustling on the other side and Neville's face appeared at the edge of the bed.

“Harry?” he whispered.

“I'm fine,” Harry said automatically.

Neville rubbed his eyes from sleep and gave Harry a small smile. “I wouldn't be, if I were you.”

Harry frowned.

“I just mean, if I'd been through that last year.” Neville said. “I wouldn't. So it's okay if you aren't.”

Harry didn't say anything.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry laid himself back down and eventually fell asleep.

The following night, the nightmare repeated itself, but this time, when he woke, it was to Neville's hand on his arm and Neville's body leaning next to him.

“I'll go,” Neville said, as Harry woke up and took deep breaths.

“Don't,” Harry said.

For a moment, that word hung between them, but then Neville eased himself down next to Harry, his hand still resting on Harry's arm. Harry turned on his side and hesitantly pulled Neville with him. Neville went, his arm now draped over Harry, who was happy to feel the solidness of him, the weight on his arm, the comfort of a warm body.

When he woke, it was to Ron pulling his curtains back. “If you don't get up, we'll miss breakfast,” he said. “I know you don't care about anything, but I'd like to eat.”

Harry rubbed his eyes. “Where's…?”

“Everyone but us is already at breakfast,” Ron said. “I can feel my stomach talking to me, Harry.”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry said, pulling himself up, not sure how to feel about having fallen asleep with Neville in the night. It had happened once, he thought, but it wouldn't happen again.

Except, it did happen again. It kept happening again. Harry would wake up from a nightmare, sometimes his own and sometimes the ones that he knew he was supposed to be blocking out, the intensity of Voldemort's emotions bleeding into his nights, and Neville would seem to be the only one who woke up, there waiting for him at the edge of his bed, to be invited in. Or, other nights, he would wake alone, in a sweat, and he would crawl across the gap between their beds into Neville's. And Neville never said no. He would roll to his side and lift his arm and there would be a Harry-shaped space there, warm and strangely safe.

Harry had never slept next to someone like this before. No one at the Dursleys would have wanted to sleep next to him. There had been no childhood vacations or camping trips that required sharing a bed. A couple of times, space restrictions at the Burrow meant that he and Ron slept next to each other, but usually, even there, or at the headquarters for the Order, they had their own beds. Still, sleeping next to Ron had been nothing like this.

This was warm and wonderful and exhilarating yet calming and a million other strange things all at once. And there were never words. Harry never told Neville about his occulumancy lessons. Neville never talked about his parents after they met them at the hospital. If Harry had to put a name on it, it was cuddling, but he didn't want to put a name on it. Other than in the night, when it happened, he didn't want to think about it at all.


	4. Sixth Year

When Harry came up from breakfast to the common room, he found Neville seated at one of the tables with his homework already out. The room was mostly empty, many students using their weekend to sleep in. For a moment, Harry paused, watching Neville.

He had shot up in the last year and was now taller than Harry, who was hardly short himself. Neville was still heavier, but he also seemed to have grown into himself in a way that surprised Harry whenever he noticed. Lately, it was hard not to notice. Neville was less round and more muscle and strength, but he still carried himself like before.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” Neville said, looking up and noticing him.

“Hi, Nev.”

“Do you have Sunday plans?” Neville asked.

“Er, no. Unless you count homework.”

“No dates?” Neville looked strangely sad.

“What? No.” Harry thought immediately of Ginny, now broken up with Dean. He could ask her out.

“Really?” Neville still looked unhappy.

“No. Who would I even…?”

Neville shrugged. “I just noticed, since Dean and Ginny broke up, that maybe you were going to ask her out.”

“I...” Harry trailed off. “I don't know.” The thing was, he did know. If he could just figure out how to do it, how to make it all right with Ron, how to not insult Dean if he did, then he wanted to very much. “You don't…” He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so he found himself changing the subject. “What about you, Neville?”

“What about me?”

“Have you asked anyone out?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Neville replied.

The room was suddenly more full, as other students returned from breakfast or wandered out of their dorm rooms. Harry saw the unlikely trio of Seamus, Ron, and Hermione coming through the portrait hole.

“You're handsome enough to, you know,” Harry said. The words made him feel unexpectedly squirmy inside. “You could ask someone out.”

“What's everyone talking about?” Seamus said.

“Dating,” Neville said, not looking away from Harry.

“Ugh, don't,” Ron said. “I'm still not recovered.” Harry glanced over at him, relieved that Ron's romance with Lavender was over and that he was out of the hospital wing.

Hermione smirked.

“You asking someone out, Harry?” Seamus asked. “Ginny always used to have a crush on you and now she's available.”

“Oi. My sister,” Ron said.

“I was just saying Neville's fit. He could ask someone out,” Harry said.

“But not the person I'd like to ask,” Neville said and the sadness was back and a little bit of anger.

“You don't know that,” Hermione said, encouragingly.

“Oh, I know.” Neville looked at his study materials on the table and abruptly stood up. “I'm going for a walk.” He stormed toward the portrait hole.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked.

Seamus grinned and looked at Harry, who suddenly felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Reckon they fancy the same bird,” he announced.

Oh, Harry thought. Neville had gone to the Yule ball with Ginny, but that had been ages ago and he'd said they were just friends. Still, he might have changed his mind.

“Are you talking about Ginny again?” Ron asked. “Stop it.”

Harry suddenly wanted to go after Neville. He couldn't stand to leave things like this, however it was that they were leaving them. “I'll be right back,” he said as he dashed toward the portrait hole himself.

Neville was still striding down the main staircase as Harry spotted him. “Hey, Neville! Wait up!” He hurried down the thickly carpeted staircase.

“What is it?” Neville asked, pausing near the bottom of the steps. His voice sounded annoyed and slightly broken.

“Just...” Harry pulled up, stopping a couple of steps up from him. He didn't know what to say.

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, standing still on the staircase.

That was a mistake, of course. If you didn't let the staircase know you were moving, it might move. In their long pause, the stairs began to shift over, changing their path from headed down to the main hall to headed to the little used corridor on the second floor, where a series of dusty, older offices and classrooms stood in a row.

Neville looked even more annoyed now, but once the stairs stopped, he walked down the empty corridor anyway.

“Neville,” Harry said. “I'm sorry.”

“Harry, just don't.” Neville ducked into an unused office, where a dusty chaise lounge draped in sheets sat next to a strange, mirrored cabinet with little wood gargoyles carved into the corners.

“Don't what?” Harry asked.

Neville stopped but didn't turn around. “Don't play dumb.”

“I'm not playing dumb.”

Neville turned and looked at him imploringly. “You know I can't ask anyone out. You know. You're the only person who does know.”

Harry had not wanted to think it for some reason. He wasn't even sure why. But he did know. Stolen moments with a book with moving drawings and nights curled onto Neville's chest flashed through his mind. He didn't mind if Neville was gay. He really didn't. He didn't know why he was so flustered.

“I really like Ginny,” he announced. He wasn't sure why that came out of his mouth. He scowled.

“Yeah. I thought you might.” Neville looked disappointed.

“I don't know why you're upset,” Harry complained. He didn't know why he was upset either. He took a step closer to Neville.

For a moment, they stood looking at each other again, the dust from the abandoned room drifting through rays of light from the thin windows on the far wall.

Then, all at once, Neville took a step toward him, leaned forward, and placed his lips on Harry's.

Neville's lips were thick and warm and dry. They parted ever so slightly, moving against Harry's in a kiss that was slowed down so that every fraction of a second felt like minutes.

Harry felt his heart pound in his chest, beating hard and fast. His ears rang and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him. They were at a funny angle, noses brushing and everything just too far away. Instinctively, Harry took a step forward, closing the gap between them.

Neville made a funny, surprised noise, but then he drew back and slowly wet his lips. Harry watched, transfixed, as the kiss began again. He kept his eyes open, even as Neville closed his. He could see Neville's rosy pink cheeks close up, his eyelashes resting on his skin, a messy strand of his dirty blond hair hanging almost over his nose. He moved his lips with Neville's and felt a warmth spread through him even as he felt his whole body trembling.

“Harry,” Neville said. Everything was still drawn out so slow and deliberate. The way Neville said his name pulled it into something impossibly long, like a caress.

“I...” Just that word somehow broke the spell and everything sped up again, his heart, his words, time all came pounding forward. “I should go,” Harry said. “I like Ginny.”

“All right,” Neville said.

Harry turned and hurried back to the staircase, relieved that it was still there, available to take him away, to somewhere else.


	5. End of Sixth Year

The curtains rustled and Harry turned his head to see Neville's face, illuminated by wandlight, appear in the crack between them.

Neville didn't ask with words. His blue eyes bore into Harry and Harry nodded, imperceptibly, but it was enough. Neville climbed into the bed and laid on his side, not quite touching Harry.

“It's you, isn't it,” he said. It wasn't a question.

“It could have been you,” Harry said suddenly.

“No,” Neville said. “I'm nothing like you, Harry. Nothing.”

“No, you don't understand,” Harry said. “There was a prophesy about a boy born at the end of July that year. There are just two of us. It could have been either of us, but Voldemort picked me. He thought I was the bigger threat, because...” Harry trailed off. “I don't know. He just did.”

Neville's eyes grew wide. “How long have you known?”

“Ages now, it seems like.”

“Bloody hell, what else are you keeping to yourself?” Neville looked shocked and until he reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, Harry thought he was offended too. But then he squeezed it and Harry sighed with something as close to contentment as he thought he could find at that moment.

“I tell Ron and Hermione,” Harry whispered. “I don't know if I can tell anyone else.”

“Not Ginny?”

“We broke up,” Harry said. “It isn't fair to her, not when I have to...” He didn't think he should say. He trusted Neville, but there were other ways to get information out of someone other than their volunteering it.

“It isn't fair to any of us,” Neville said.

“Any of who?”

“Any of us who are in love with you,” Neville's voice was a whisper but his words went to Harry's heart and made his blood surge and his body warm and his chest ache.

“You aren't.” He didn't let go of Neville's hand, just gripped it harder, probably too hard.

“Maybe,” Neville said, a little louder. “I've never been in love before. Maybe it's heartburn.”

Harry couldn't stop the small laugh from escaping. “Allergies.”

“Dragon pox.”

“Food poisoning.”

Neville giggled and his naturally pink color turned warmer, his cheeks reddening. “What will you do now?”

“I have to go back to my aunt and uncle's,” Harry said. He didn't even dread it anymore. It was just a necessary thing. “Then, well...” He couldn't say. “What will you do?”

“Oh,” Neville said, his voice suddenly serious. “I'm going to run away to Paris. No, to New York. I'll make my fortune in a wizarding rock and roll band. I'll have a million boyfriends and dress like a pirate.”

“Even with an eye patch?”

“Even with a parrot. I'll name it Trevor the Second and it'll deliver my messages and sing in my band.”

Harry laughed.

“I don't know why you're bothering with your aunt and uncle's.”

“Oh, I was just joking,” Harry said. “It'll be Paris for me. Or Egypt. I'm going to clean out my whole Gringott's vault and climb the Pyramids and fly down on my broom. Then I'll go on a dragon safari. There are wild ones in the jungles.”

“It's good we have such realistic plans.”

“Yes, just what was I was thinking,” Harry said. He squeezed Neville's hand and Neville squeezed back.

In the morning, the Hogwarts Express would be leaving to take them home. He might not ever come back to Hogwarts. He might not live to see it. The locket, the snake, something of Hufflepuff's, something of Ravenclaw's… Harry knew his brain was going to go over it all again and again. He was going to revisit the scene at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

“Will you stay?” Harry whispered. As soon as he said it, he felt wracked with guilt. “No, I didn't mean that, Neville. I'm sorry. That really isn't fair to you.”

“Oh fuck fair,” Neville said. “None of this is fair. Your parents, my parents. I haven't ever expected anything to be fair.”

He moved in toward Harry, their faces just a breath apart. Harry pulled the covers back and let himself bask in the warmth of Neville's presence at his side.

“Can I be really unfair then?” Harry asked.

“No such thing as fair,” Neville insisted.

Harry leaned forward, not even lifting his head from the pillow, and placed his lips on Neville's. It was nothing like some of the desperate snogging he'd done with Ginny in recent weeks. It was more of a comforting, sad kiss. Harry was drawn to all the differences in it. He couldn't not notice Neville's plump lips, the way he tasted like cinnamon toothpaste, the mild smell of his sweat. Neville's hand came to rest on his head, fingers running ever so slowly through his hair and then to his back, tracing comforting circles over his old t-shirt as they continued to make slow kisses, lips sliding along each other, then parting, then coming back.

Harry wasn't sure how long this lasted. Eventually, he fell asleep like that, his face next to Neville's, his lips warm from kissing, his head finally still from its grief and pain and drive to go out and find Voldemort.


	6. Seventh Year

The initial relief and joy of having Ron back was starting to fade. It had only taken a few days for Harry to begin to feel the edges of despair at the mammoth nature of their task. They had destroyed a Horcrux, but it was all they had to show for their months on the run. Just one. And now the Hallows were in his mind. He would finger the cloak, think about Dumbledore's wand, and wonder about the stone. His mind went round and round.

Hermione was pouring over a book in the tent, holding the little flame to keep warm. “I was thinking about contingency plans,” she said. “We should make more of them, if we get separated. And for other things.”

Other things, like if they got killed. It was practical, he supposed, and something they could actually do something about, unlike missing Hallows and mystery Horcruxes. Harry didn't say anything, but he let her make plans with Ron, plans he didn't think would ever really mean anything, but which probably made her feel better. Still, it starting thoughts swimming in his head.

When Hermione had gone to bed and Ron was sitting outside, doing warming spells in the snow and eating beans on toast, he came out and joined him, sitting on a fallen log next to their tent.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I, er, wrote a couple of letters. It's probably silly. If we manage everything, you can just burn them. But if we don't… Well...”

“I gave Hermione a letter for my parents,” Ron said, quietly. “Just, you know. I already said everything to my dad, but I thought Mum… Bloody hell, Harry. We're going to find the next horcrux and the next and it'll all end.”

Harry smiled at Ron's enthusiasm. He knew he had to keep it longer than he or Hermione, to prove himself. “Of course,” Harry said. “But, you know.” He withdrew the two folded pieces of parchment. “I think I got the spells right to keep them closed until the person they're for wants them.” Looking in spell books had been a nice distraction from sitting, playing with the snitch, thinking too hard about everything.

“All right. Who are they for?”

“This one is for Ginny.” Harry handed Ron the folded square with Ginny's name on it. Harry wasn't surprised to see Ron's brotherly concern hovering over it. “It isn't, er… It isn't anything bad,” Harry said. “I meant what I said about not wanting to mess her about. But if, well, if the worst happens, I think she'd want to know what I thought and, you know, that she shouldn't let how things ended with us ruin anything else.”

Ron nodded, turning the little square over.

Harry took a deep breath. “And this one is for Neville.”

“What'd you need to say to Neville?” Ron asked, surprised.

“Oh, Merlin, Ron, so many things,” Harry said. “I didn't exactly…” He took another breath, watching the condensation of his heat mist through the cold, damp air. “It's funny how some things are clearer now, away from Hogwarts, on the run. I keep thinking about my parents, even after Godric's Hollow. And I know it's stupid, but I was having bad dreams about the Dursleys. I understand now why I had to live with them, but I think it was just horribly cruel. It's funny that it bothers me more now in a way than it used to. As if I don't have enough to think about. And I keep thinking about Neville.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven't treated him very fairly. Because I knew he was in love with me and I led him on.”

Ron sputtered slightly. “What? Harry, Neville's a… a… poof?”

“I might be one too, Ron,” Harry said. “Or half of one or something.” He held his breath.

“Oh,” Ron said said. “But… Ginny. And… And you liked Cho and… I mean, it's okay if… You don't fancy me do you?”

“No, Ron,” Harry said. “I'm pretty sure you and Hermione, well… You know.”

Ron didn't reply for a moment. “Yeah, I… Yeah. But what about...”

“I never cheated on Ginny,” Harry said. “I really liked her. I care about her a lot. If we… Well, I don't know.”

“You mean you… you and Neville?”

“We snogged. Just a few times. But there were other things. He used to wake up if I had a nightmare and we would...” Harry trailed off. Somehow those moments shared behind the bed curtains, the two of them tangled together in various chaste embraces, seemed to private to share. “He would comfort me. It wasn't… I don't know if I want to talk about it. But I definitely liked it. I liked snogging Neville. It was different from snogging Ginny. I… anyway. I wanted to tell him how I felt. That I think I love him too.” Harry thought about the words he had written on the parchment. This is not heartburn or dragonpox.

“Oh.”

“Ron, I… the worst may have already happened to Neville. I open the map and watch Hogwarts sometimes. I can see Ginny in her dorm and Hannah and Ernie in their classes and Snape in the headmaster's office. But I haven't seen Neville's dot in ages. He may be captured, like Luna, or have run away, or… worse.”

“Oh,” Ron repeated.

Harry felt a sort of desperate feeling in his chest that threatened to overtake him. This was why he didn't think about any of it too hard, not Ginny or Neville or whether Remus and Tonks were all right, or whether Kingsley was going to win this fight some other way. He just couldn't think about it or he might break. He pushed down a sort of sob.

“Hey,” Ron said suddenly. “Hey, I… I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure they all are really. I… we can't give up hope and… Blimey, Harry. Neville. In the dorms? You really? I mean… Oh, Merlin, that's not my business. I don't...”

Harry's sob turned into a small laugh at Ron's disbelief.

“Nothing like that,” he said.

“You're still my best mate,” Ron said resolutely. “No matter what. No matter who you love.”

Harry felt his whole body tremble. “Yeah?”

“Well, maybe not anyone. Not a greasy git like Snape. Or, if you decide you're in love with Kreacher, I might have your head examined. Or if you decide to go back to Hogwarts and take Moaning Myrtle up on any of her propositions, we'll need to have a chat.”

Harry laughed and wiped his face with his hands covered in the sleeves of his jumper. He breathed into the fabric and warmed his nose.

Ron tucked both the letters into his pocket. “Thanks for telling me, I guess,” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Last year it seemed like a big secret that took up a whole room in my head along with Ginny and schoolwork and the mystery of that stupid potions textbook and Dumbledore's lessons. Now, it's just nothing. It's a single book on the largest library shelf and the rest are all about Horcruxes and Hallows and staying alive.”

“I keep thinking that the books on my shelf should be about finishing growing up and how to ask out… a girl. And how to get a job. And quidditch. You know, normal stuff.”

Harry laughed, thinking suddenly of The Young Wizard's Guide to Growing Up and the moving drawings. If only growing up and finishing his NEWTs was his biggest challenge.

“It's mad cold,” Ron complained.

“Yeah. Go in. I'll be up for awhile,” Harry said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I'm wide awake.”

“Thanks.”

Harry thought he would dwell on everything he had told Ron and that he might pull out the map and watch the little steps of his friends move around the castle, but instead it was only a few minutes before he was thinking about the Hallows. The stone. Dumbledore had known where it was, he was sure. And if you had it…


	7. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... here's where we get canon divergent. I think the moments of canon where I've slotted these bits of scenes make sense.

Harry's heart was suddenly in his throat as he watched the figure approach down the portrait tunnel. It couldn't be, could it?

But then it was, even with overgrown hair and ripped robes and scars all over his face. The real Neville clambered out of the portrait. “I knew you'd come! I knew it, Harry!”

And before Harry could really think about what he was doing, he strode forward as Neville leapt down and grabbed him in a tight embrace just below the mantlepiece.

“You're alive,” he said, and, without thinking, he pressed his lips to Neville's.

There was a funny moment, where Neville froze, but then he was kissing Harry back with a great deal of fervor, his hands returning the embrace and tangling in Harry's hair. They were quite a pair, Harry realized, worse for wear and scraggly from their year. Harry's heart beat hard in his chest and what little space there was inside him for any thoughts but of his task opened up for a moment and was filled with Neville.

“Harry,” Neville said as their lips parted. His face suddenly broke into a wide grin and Harry could see up close that things were even worse than he'd originally thought. Neville had gouge marks on his face and one eye was swollen up in bruising. He looked like he'd been living rough. “I knew you'd come,” he said again, just as happy.

Aberforth made a grumpy noise.

“Can someone tell me what in...” Hermione sputtered.

“Hermione!” Neville said, looking at Harry one more time before leaving his embrace to hug Hermione and Ron.

“I...” Harry started, but then furrowed his brow. “It's not important now.”

“You don't know everything,” Ron observed, elbowing Hermione gently with a grin. She gave him a look of disbelief that was then turned to Harry and Neville. “Fine. Never mind. We have to get in the castle. Neville, can you help?”

* * *

“Kill the snake?” Neville asked.

“Yes,” Harry repeated.

“You know we're still here, we're still fighting,” Neville added.

Harry's heart surged for a moment. If he were going to live, if, then he could tell Neville how he felt. He could give Neville more to fight for. He could take comfort from Neville right now and ask him to walk with him, ask him to hold his hand, to kiss him again. The kiss they had shared in the wee hours of the morning now felt like decades ago. The handful of kisses they'd had as students were ancient history, more unreachable than anything Binns ever taught in class.

It was a final temptation away from his task. He knew that. With effort, he squeezed the hand Neville had placed on his shoulder and then he purposefully forced himself to let go.

Taking a step back, he swung the cloak over himself again.

“You won't do anything stupid, Harry,” Neville repeated, his voice slightly angry.

But Harry walked away, forcing himself not to look back, and then not to pause when he saw Ginny helping a younger student. There was nothing for him there now. And if he could trust anyone to finish things for him, it was Neville.

He spared one last thought for Ron and the letters he hopefully still had clutched in his jacket. Neville would understand. Then he headed into the forest.

* * *

Neville was sitting on a bench with his arm around Hannah Abbott, who was sobbing. For a moment, Harry just stood, hidden under the invisibility cloak, watching. Just when he had decided to move on, Neville stood up as Ernie sat down with Hannah, also in tears. Harry could overhear them talking about a Hufflepuff the year below them who had apparently died in the fighting.

“It's me,” Harry said quietly, hoping Neville didn't startle.

It didn't work. Neville did startle, but then he shook his head. “Blimey, Harry,” he said quietly back, taking another step away from Hannah and Ernie.

“I have to go do something with Hermione and Ron,” Harry said. “But then… meet me in an hour?”

“Where?”

Harry's eyes scanned the crowd. Parents and Ministry officials were there, and students. It seemed like everyone was going to be busy for a long time. “Gryffindor tower?”

Neville nodded slightly and then Harry was off.

* * *

Ron and Hermione hadn't wanted to leave him, but Harry had insisted that he needed to sleep and that they should too, though Ron felt he needed to go back to his family. Hermione was glued to Ron's side. She had been, Harry began to realize, since back at Shell Cottage, since everything that had happened at Malfoy Manor.

He wondered what would happen to Draco and his father now. He wondered how to make things right with Ginny, who he loved, but didn't know if he was in love with anymore. He wondered if Lavender was all right. He wondered what would happen and which Death Eaters had escaped and…

Each step up to the tower got harder and harder. It was like the last several days were all catching up to him at once. It was a misty midday outside, but his internal clock was telling him it was the deadest part of night. Maybe this wasn't just the last few days, maybe this was the last year all barreling down on him.

He put one foot in front of the other until he reached the Fat Lady, who was celebrating with Sir Cadogan. They were both tipsy and Harry thought he saw the skinny knight's hands withdrawing from places on the Fat Lady that he didn't want to think about. What was under a portrait's dress? It didn't bear considering.

“Oh, you!” the Fat Lady exclaimed. “Go in! Congratulations! Thank you so much, dear boy. I told all of them, my house! I always knew you'd do great things.”

The portrait swung aside and Harry found himself in a deserted common room, the space having a disused air that was quieter than the hallways, where the portraits were celebrating and the odd sounds of mourning and celebrating and triage all floated through at once.

When Harry made it up to the dorms, he opened his mouth to say something to Neville, who was standing at the window looking out, but found he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead he just stood there mute.

Neville was just as battered and shaggy haired as he had been earlier, if not more so. His robes were gone and he was in a torn jumper and trousers that looked slightly charred. The dorm hadn't changed, but Neville had. He didn't look so different from the previous year. He was slightly leaner, perhaps from having been unfed for awhile, and he had added an inch or two, but mostly he just carried himself differently, like he was in charge. He was beautiful under the dirt and scars.

Harry's heart stirred and he felt a funny fear in the pit of his stomach. Neville had grown up. And despite their kiss earlier, Harry suddenly worried that Neville might not feel about him the same way anymore. Maybe he had outgrown his childish crush on Harry. Maybe, with a little maturity, he now resented the way Harry had treated him.

Neville turned away from the window toward Harry and his face looked as weary as Harry felt.

“There's food,” he said. “A house elf was looking for you and left it.”

On a platter on the table that stood between Harry's old bed and Ron's was a pile of sandwiches and several tiny treacle tarts.

Harry looked at it dumbly and then back at Neville.

“I already had a ham and cheese,” Neville said. “When was the last time you ate?”

“A lifetime ago,” Harry said, and then, the strange truth behind those words hit him and he began to laugh. He knew it was slightly hysterical, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. “Literally, Neville. Literally.”

He had managed to give the story to Ron and Hermione, but he had no practice telling Neville things. Neville looked confused, but he said, “You should eat.”

So Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and ate. “I...” he started, but then he stopped, unsure where to start. Neville knew nothing about the horcruxes or the hallows or what Harry's year had been like.

“Maybe this is why we never used to talk,” Neville said with a small smile after Harry had paused for too long.

Harry laughed and then, gulping down pumpkin juice, he hiccuped. “Maybe. I think I'm too exhausted, Neville. And it's too much to say at once.”

“We're alive. We've got time now. Food first, right?”

Harry nodded and took another bite.

“You do go off and do something stupid, didn't you?”

“Perhaps.” Harry chewed his sandwich. His mouth watered over it, but he barely tasted it.

Neville smiled and let Harry finish in silence. It probably should have felt awkward, but Harry was so focused on chewing and finishing his food that he barely noticed.

“I haven't had a proper shower in a month,” Neville said when Harry had polished off two sandwiches and three of the tiny treacle tarts, practically inhaling the food.

“Oh, god, me neither,” Harry said.

Neville cocked his head at him and eyed him funny. “Come on.”

If he had been anything but out of his mind with weariness, Harry probably would have been more nervous about heading into the showers with Neville than he had been to face Voldemort, but just putting his feet in front of the other was so tiring. The battle had finished in the morning. Outside, the sun was already beginning to sink.

The dorm bathroom was comfortingly familiar. Neville took the stall at the end, pulling the curtain behind him. Harry stood under the warm water, letting layers of grime wash away. He didn't even really scrub, just let the soap run over him and stood there until he heard Neville out, moving around and saw a pair of clean track bottoms that he thought might be Seamus's sitting on the bench when he peeked out.

He dried off and pulled on the bottoms. There was no top, but everything he had on was beyond the help of a scourgify. He suspected if a house elf found the clothes, they'd be burned.

In the dorm room, Neville was on Harry's bed, looking up at the ceiling, wearing an undershirt and boxers. Harry paused, looking at him. Had he said the things he needed to say? How did Neville feel? He had no idea.

Harry thought that if he wasn't so tired, he would have approached the whole thing more intelligently, but as it was, he didn't think he knew what to do.

Neville's eyes flickered away from the tapestry hangings and the ceiling above the bed. “Come to bed.”

“Can I?”

“It's your bed, isn't it?”

“I don't think it is anymore, not really.”

“I think it's yours. I can… I can go… if you like.” Neville sat up slightly. “If you want to be alone.”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “I love you!” It didn't seem like the right moment to say it, but it also seemed like a moment where he had to say it or he might burst.

“Oh,” Neville said, his eyes suddenly wide.

“Oh, god,” Harry said.

“You're saying muggle swears,” Neville observed with a small smile.

Harry looked around wildly. “I… Fuck. I didn't mean to… I mean… Neville, it's been a long year. If you've moved on and don't want… I don't want to presume.”

“Harry, calm down.” Neville grinned. “I love you too. Of course. I've always been the one who… well, you know.”

“Oh thank goodness.”

There was a pause. “So you should come to bed,” Neville repeated slowly. “And we'll talk later.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry said. “Yes, definitely.”

He stumbled into the bed, where Neville placed his hand on Harry's bare chest, causing him to feel a shiver run up his spine. He laid back on the pillows and felt the cool softness of the familiar bedding, which did seem made for him, more comfortable than any bed had a right to be.

“Oh,” he said.

And then Neville, his hand still against Harry's heart, leaned his head over Harry's and brought their lips together in a kiss.

For a moment, Harry was lost in it. He felt the cool taste of Neville's toothpaste and the warm feel of his skin contrasting with the cool of the sheets. He wasn't even really thinking about tongues and lips and wet warmth on his mouth, though they were all there. He was just doing and feeling and acting on pure instinct. And all the thoughts and fears and everything began to fade back in a way that they hadn't in so long that Harry felt untethered from everything, except that Neville was his anchor, dragging him back to reality.

Neville ran his fingers along Harry's chin and cradled his cheek, kissed his chin, reminding Harry that he had showered, but not shaved or done a shaving charm. But Neville didn't seem to mind. He kissed Harry's neck next and then his chest, trailing kisses all over.

“I can't believe I'm allowed to do this,” Neville said. Then, chuckling at himself, he added, “I can't believe I'm allowed anything, honestly, after the last few months. I can't believe I'm allowed a shower and sandwiches and back into the dorms.”

Harry pulled him back up by his undershirt and they kissed again. It wasn't a hurried kiss, more of a comforting one.

“I can't believe...” Harry started, but he couldn't quite put it into words. “Neville, I want to say things, so many things. We should talk.” But then he didn't have words.

Harry's thoughts, which had been spinning as he'd walked up the steps to the tower and had quieted with the kiss suddenly reared up making his whole head hurt. There was so much. Downstairs there was death. So many people had died. And maybe he was responsible for Teddy now, he didn't even know. He had never met his own godson. And yet there was so much relief. Many people were celebrating. But the Death Eaters were still there. Voldemort had other supporters. And the Ministry. And Kingsley. And McGonagall. And he had died. And what had been real. And he felt strange and empty and what if it was the part of him that was Voldemort and was now dead. And what if a part of him was now dead.

“What if we can't?” Harry gasped out. “What if we can't talk?” They never had before. And the feelings Harry had were new and big and maybe there was still no room for them. Maybe there would never be room.

Neville seemed to understand. “Shh,” he said against Harry's ear, his breath tickling against the back of his earlobe. “All the time, remember? And we're all grown up now. We made it through. We'll figure it out.”

And Harry trusted Neville. All the time in the world.

Neville gripped Harry's hand ever so tight and rested his arm across Harry's chest, his face a scant inch away from Harry's ear. “Do you need permission, Harry?” he asked. “To rest, I mean? You can rest. And let go. And I'll be here when you wake up. And we will be able to talk. And you can tell me where you've been, if you like. And why I had to kill the snake. And everything. Everything, Harry.” His voice faded to a whisper.

Harry closed his eyes.

“Promise?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Neville squeezed his hand. And then he shifted them both so that he was wrapped around Harry from behind, holding him, just like he had when Harry used to have nightmares. It was so comforting, so familiar.

It was so perfect that Harry started to drift off. He told himself as he drifted that he would never take this feeling for granted again. He would know it for how precious it really was.

And then he said something he didn't think he'd said enough, “Thanks, Neville.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear, fabulous world of fic, please write more Harry/Neville. Just sayin.
> 
> If you also read E rated fic, then I have a few other Harry/Neville stories.
> 
> [Outsider](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9710111/chapters/21905783) is part of a series I have where Harry and Ginny are poly. It's centered on five different encounters between Neville and Harry and can totally be read without reading the rest of the series. I originally wrote it on its own, actually. I consider this work some of my best smut, but it also has lots of feels.
> 
> [Change My World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12773784/chapters/29145750) is about Harry trying to figure out life after coming out and divorcing Ginny, but still having a family to raise. A very slow build as Harry is oblivious to how perfect Neville is for him.


End file.
